


could be getting better (maybe)

by whitchry9



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, Gen, POV Second Person, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's kind of hard to hide the scars when you're on a team of genuine superheroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could be getting better (maybe)

Everyone moves into your Tower, and you only begin to seriously regret the decision when the weather gets hot.

You were always careful, never using your wrists ( _teenage girls,_ your mind whispers at you, and you ignore it, because it's stereotypical and wrong) but you can't cover every inch of your skin forever.

Because sure, ankles are pretty visible, but no one ever really looks closely at those. Pale scars on your hands can be explained away by a lifetime of lab accidents and that brief incident of torture that wasn't quite as brief as you'd like people to think.

The ones on your shoulder though, they... they are harder to explain away.

Mostly, your awesome t-shirts cover them though, and no one really looks closely enough to see them.

But yeah, everyone moves in, and things go downhill from there. Superspies look, but don't say anything, even though you're sure they're dying to.

 

Bruce doesn't beat around the bush though. He shows up in your lab often, even though he has his own. It's fun to do experiments together. You do get lonely sometimes, not that you'd admit it. He probably does too.

 

It's warm, and you're in your short sleeves. He's wearing a button up. Typical.

He smiles at you, and you wonder what he's got planned, if he has anything planned, or if he's just come to see what you're up to, and maybe force you to eat something if it's been a while. You're not sure if it's been a while, so it probably has been.

 

“You haven't eaten for a while,” he says gently.

Ah. Yeah.

You hum, but continue working.

“Clint made pancakes,” he goes on. “With fruit sauce.”

You check your watch. It's dinnertime.

“For dinner?” you ask, frowning.

Bruce shrugs, and it is answer enough. Clint does what he wants.

You don't want to go, but you're awfully fond of pancakes.

You're still thinking about it when you realize Bruce has been eyeing your arm. The most recent series of cuts are a few days old, but the scabs are still prominent, and they're peeking out from underneath your sleeve.

Bruce looks concerned. “How are you Tony?”

“Delightful,” you tell him. “Peachy.”

Bruce blinks at you before asking. “What are those cuts on your arm from?”

“Incident in the lab,” you tell him, pulling the sleeve of your shirt down to cover them.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks you. “They're very straight for being from lab accidents.”

You smile at Bruce, because that's what you do.

“Absolutely,” you tell him.

He frowns at you, but he leaves you be, and you're so relieved you ride the high for the rest of the day.

(You can't help but be a little disappointed, because you're not crying out for help, but it's more of a whimper, and you wouldn't fight too hard if he pressed you.)

 

You get pancakes after changing into long sleeves, and if Bruce mentioned it to anyone else, they don't act like it when he mutters something about Thor taking all the whipped cream.

It's still normal, which is... nice.

You're always afraid that things won't be normal after people... notice. Or think they notice. Or don't. Maybe you just imagine the whole thing.

But then, you're not that stupid.

 

Maybe you just want to be.

 

_(Maybe Bruce knows how much genius fucking hurts, how your sharp mind can rip itself to shreds, and the only reason he doesn't have the scars too is because of his green friend that wipes the slate clean. Maybe it's worse to not have the scars.)_

 

Maybe.

 

(And maybe your scars lessen as you build yourself a family, not one just from metal and spare parts this time, but from people you gather and care about, even though you come to realize they're just as lost and broken as you, even if they don't have the too straight lines of scars to show it. And yeah, maybe you have a family now, one that you actually care about and weren't forced into. There's something to be said for surrounding yourself with people who actually care about you and understand the pain you feel, every fucking day. So yes, you think this could be getting better. You could be getting better.

Maybe.)

 


End file.
